


Steady

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 09:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Gandalf gets home.





	Steady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solarfox123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solarfox123/gifts).



> A/N: This is a gift for auniverseforgotten, who donated to Aha Pūnana Leo and the Redhawk Native American Arts Council for my [karma commissions drive](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/167176922380/karma-commissions) and requested “Gandalf/Radagast [...] modern AU”.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The brown paper bags are bulging and awkward to carry, two of them crammed into his arms and obscuring his vision as he dodders up the path. It would be nice to use the fabric ones they own—lord knows they’ve bought enough over the years—but they’re so infernally difficult to find, like just about everything else that lives in Gandalf’s home. It’s true that he rarely has any time to clean, much less to _sort_ , but he’s not the worst offender. The hoard is mostly Radagast’s. Gandalf can see it even though the windows. 

When he makes it to the front door of their residence, Gandalf lets out a little huff, because with his arms full of groceries, there’s no way to fish the keys out of his pocket. There’s every chance that the door will be open anyway—Radagast always darting in and out as he is, chasing squirrels or taking pictures of raccoons or wanting to pet the neighbour’s dog. Gandalf tries to nudge it with his hip, but his hip’s been bad for years, and the handle still defies him.

Finally, he gives up. He sets the groceries down on the dirty porch, making a mental note to sweep it tomorrow. He probably won’t. But it’s good to have plans, even if he has far more than he can keep track of. Then he’s free to test the door—and, indeed, it’s open.

When they were _young_ , so very long ago, newly moved in together, Radagast would’ve run to him. Just like an eager puppy, Radagast would simply appear out of the mess, enveloping Gandalf in the warmth of a tender hug, then tugging him inside and asking _what would he like?_ Dinner would already be on the table. But they’ve far outgrown their honeymoon.

The house is quiet and comfortable. Gandalf pushes the door closed behind himself, using only his foot, and meanders down the hallway, right into the living room. There’s no room in the kitchen anymore for grocery bags, so Gandalf sets them on the dining table—the one surface he’s managed to keep clear. He isn’t surprised that he has to step over two cats to reach it. As he’s unpacking the lumpy bags, Radagast appears out of the kitchen. 

He smiles just as warmly as he always did, humming his welcome home. Gandalf returns the smile, not because it’s any habit of his, but because Radagast always pulls that out of him. Then Radagast’s bending down to scoop out a tuna can into one of the many dishes littered about the floor.

As though summoned by magic, cats peek out of everywhere. They climb over piles of junk, out from under furniture, even emerge from couch cushions. Gandalf can only fondly shake his head. He’s a terrible enabler, he knows, but he’s also a workaholic, and Radagast needs _some_ company while he’s gone.

Radagast coos and clicks his tongue at his furry friends as they swarm around him. It takes two looks for Gandalf to pick up that something’s off, and then he stops with the groceries to concentrate on counting cats.

There’s one more than there should be. He doesn’t have to ask, just wearily sighs, “You’ve adopted another stray.”

“Sebastian,” Radagast answers, reaching out to pet a scruffy brown Persian that wasn’t there this morning. “He’s so terribly cute, and wondrously sweet of course, and I found the poor think out by the dumpsters! He’ll be alright with a bath and a brush though, don’t you think?”

Gandalf thinks that’s a good recipe for fleas, but there’s no telling his husband that. So he just shakes his head and accepts it for what it is. Radagast pulls Sebastian into his lap, and the cat purrs like a luxury domestic pet rather than a feral thing off the streets. But Radagast tames all things, both animals and husbands. 

Gandalf putters off to make them dinner, two tabbies hot on his heels.


End file.
